


Blood Bonds

by Here4MyBoys



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Castiel is a dick, Fluff, Gen, Multi, Post-Season/Series 13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 20:34:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15494136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Here4MyBoys/pseuds/Here4MyBoys
Summary: Sam is willing to go to any lengths to get Michael out of his brother, regardless of the consequences.





	Blood Bonds

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Joce a.k.a. deanssammy (babylxxrry) for all her help with betaing and editing.

Sam sat in the dim light of the library, staring blankly at some obscure religious text he’d found yesterday. Empty energy drink cans and coffee mugs surrounded him, along with an open laptop, and various occult items, left over from failed spells. The library was cold for the time of year and smelled of stale coffee and old books. Even in the light of the single desk lamp, Jack could see Sam’s exhaustion; he was pale, scruffy, and dark circles sat beneath staring eyes. He looked small.

This latest setback had hit Sam hard. He’d gotten his hopes up just to have them crushed. As if that weren’t enough, he’d also been betrayed.

Three days ago, Sam and Jack had returned to the bunker from checking out one of Michael’s crime scenes – _he_ was of course long gone – to find Rowena sat in their library, high-heeled feet up on the table, drinking Dean’s whiskey. She believed she’d found an exorcism in her book that could work on an archangel... Jack liked Rowena, she made her words sound funny and, even though she called him ‘Satan spawn’, he often saw her smiling at him when she thought he couldn’t see. And after the smile her news put on Sam’s face, Jack liked her even more.

The three of them had worked hard to hunt up some tricky ingredients, only to find the spell missing when they came to perform it.

At first, everyone had pitched in to solve the mystery, but eventually one of the refugees from the Apocalypse World had come forward to proudly announce that he had destroyed it. According to him, they should be finding ways to trap or kill Michael – _before_ getting him out of Dean’s body – apparently he considered the effort to rescue the elder Winchester to be a waste of time that distracted from the need to save the world before Michael razed it to the ground. Jack had never seen Sam so angry, didn’t even know he had it in him. The brother Jack considered to be the gentler of the two, had beaten the hell out of the man before ordering him from the bunker. Sam had wanted _all_ the refugees to leave, and Jack agreed, but Mary had insisted they needed the manpower, and Sam looked too hopeless to argue.

Rowena could not remember the spell by heart, and since then, Sam had returned to not taking care of himself. He hadn’t slept in days and had been surviving on protein bars and caffeine.

Standing in the doorway, Jack’s eyes filled with tears to see Sam in such distress. Despair, frustration and fear twisted inside him, emotions he’d become better at recognising as he’d grown older. Frustration was the worst; if he still had his powers they’d have saved Dean by now. Jack would have forced his cruel uncle from Dean’s body and ended him. As it was, all he had were dusty books and troubling news stories.

_It’s my fault. If I hadn’t trusted Lucifer, he would never had gotten so close. They tried to warn me about what he was._ Jack had caused this, he knew. He had hurt the two people he loved most in the world because he’d wanted someone who understood him – not realizing he already had it. Jack wanted to hit something... mostly himself.

“It’s four in the morning,” Jack spoke the words quietly, so as not to startle Sam, but Sam flinched anyway, as if pulled suddenly from a trance. Sam looked at Jack as if he’d spoken some dead language he didn’t understand.

“I had a nightmare,” Jack tried again, hoping this would work. To his relief, it did. Sam’s face softened as he took the hint and smiled at Jack. It was a shadow of the soft smile Sam always gave him – it was strained and it didn’t touch his eyes, but the love was still there.

“Okay. A few hours,” Sam stood like he’d been sat for a very long time – which he probably had – and followed Jack to his room.

It hadn’t taken Jack long to work out that his nightmares plagued him far less when he had Sam’s strong, protective body next to him, and he wasn’t afraid to use it to make Sam sleep too. He hadn’t at first. For the first week or so after Michael left them in that church, Sam hadn’t rested; he’d barely eaten. They had driven across the country chasing the archangel, never stopping. But as the trail only got colder, they’d had to come back to regroup. After all, it didn’t matter if they caught up with Michael: he had wings. He could be one step in front of them and then on the other side of the world in a second.

Laid next to Jack in the small bed, Sam looked deep in thought. Jack had no words to comfort him, so he simply shuffled closer, burying his face in Sam’s t-shirt until Sam wrapped his arm around the boy, stroking his sandy hair with his fingertips. As Jack drifted to sleep, comforted by the gentle gesture, he heard a tortured whisper from Sam. _‘I’m sorry’_

 

***

 

Guilt kept Sam from sleeping, which ironically made him feel guiltier. He had promised Jack. A week or so after they lost Dean, they’d returned to the bunker. Sam had no intention of being there long, only to collect some supplies and books. Exhaustion had caused him to black out in the kitchen, and he’d woken up to the kid’s panicked, tear-streaked face hovering over him. The terror on his sweet face had slapped Sam out the blur of sleep-deprivation and hit him with realisation that he had to look after himself – for Jack. He had promised the boy, right then, that he would eat and sleep and all that other stuff that, while necessary, got in the way of finding Dean.

Dean.

_If I hadn’t tried to get Jack away from Lucifer, if I hadn’t tried to save him, then I wouldn’t have been taken and this wouldn’t have happened._ Sam couldn’t regret trying to save Jack but he blamed himself for the end result. If Lucifer had only taken Jack, then he and Dean would’ve come up with a plan. A risky one, probably, but Dean had only become desperate enough to let Michael in, because _Sam_ had been taken, too.

Now Dean was trapped inside an archangel. And Sam knew that pain. As he lay next to his kid, memories flooded his mind. The feeling of being filled by power, by a light that seared every cell in your body. Feeling simultaneously like it was ripping you apart and crushing you under an immeasurable weight. All the while, you were forced to watch, helpless, as a monster did terrible things with your own hands. To fight so hard just to move or speak, only to have an impossibly old, powerful entity laugh into your mind like you were an insect kicking its legs as it burned under a magnifying glass. And Dean _was_ fighting. Sam knew he would be. He also knew if he could find Michael, Dean stood a chance of overpowering him, just like Sam had all those years ago.

And yet they were no closer to Michael than they had been three months ago. No amount of praying, research, or spells from Rowena had gotten them any closer. And now Sam was hurting Jack too. _I shouldn’t be putting this on him,_ Sam thought, _but what choice do I have?_

John had put too much on them growing up, especially Dean. He chased revenge without a thought for his boys... too wrapped up in his own pain to see the pain he was inflicting. And now Sam was continuing that cycle.

But he needed to keep Jack close to protect him – if Michael thought Jack was unprotected, he might come after him. It would destroy Dean to see Jack murdered with his own hands. No, Sam had to keep the kid close. And Jack had been more helpful than everyone else put together. He was smart and intuitive and he seemed as focused as Sam. He’d found sightings of Michael, spells... and he hadn’t complained. Not once. Next week would be his first birthday. Not that it would be particularly memorable, but he didn’t seem to mind. Sam felt a swell of pride for the child he’d helped raise. There was no one he’d rather have on his team right now.

Sam had explained the story of how he and Dean became vessels to Michael and Lucifer. Jack had listened with a little too much curiosity. There were some details that Sam didn’t want Jack to know, especially about the cage. He refused to put that knowledge in Jack’s head. So he’d skirted around any details that could lead to that line of questioning, instead telling him about how love for Dean had given Sam the strength to fight.

_Better than demon blood any day_ , Sam thought, as he remembered the swell of power inside him, born out of desperation to save Dean from being beaten to death.

With that thought, the slow-moving wheels of his mind skidded to a stop. And began turning in a different direction…

 

***

 

Sam was already up when Jack woke, finishing a large mug of coffee and an omelette in the kitchen. He was pleased to see that Sam had eaten, and even more pleased to see renewed life in his eyes. He joined Sam at the table with a bowl of Lucky Charms but before he could think of something to say, Sam spoke first.

“I gotta go out for a while,” he said with determination but didn’t make eye contact.

Jack frowned in confusion. “I’ll come with.” He tried to sound chirpy and light. Maybe Sam had found something? Jack hoped so. he needed some good news. So did Sam. Forgetting his Lucky Charms, he got up to put his shoes on.

“No!” Sam hadn’t really sounded harsh, but his tone removed any chance to argue and Jack couldn’t help but feel a little rejected. “No,” Sam repeated, softer this time, clearly seeing the hurt on Jack’s face.

Sam got up from the table and walked around to kiss the top of Jack’s head. “I need to think about some stuff. Please stay here and keep looking?”

Jack nodded, confused and worried, but resigned.

“I love you,” Sam did look at him as he said that, and his words lifted Jack’s spirits considerably. Ever since his declaration of love in that church, Sam had begun to return the sentiment. He seemed to struggle with it at first, but soon it came more naturally.

 

***

 

Sam tried to get out of the bunker as fast as he could, before Jack could ask any questions, or worse, insist on coming. Sam already wasn’t sure he could do what he needed to do _without_ Jack there, let alone with him riding shotgun.

But there was something he needed before he could go. A photograph. No one printed photos these days. Sam was frustrated for a minute, looking for an old ID, until he remembered the most recent picture he had. Among his things in the library, Sam found the photo he loved so much he had gone to the trouble of having it printed with the intention of framing it in his room.

One look at it nearly changed his mind. He saw himself, Dean and Jack sat at a booth in a diner after they’d returned from the Apocalypse World. Dean and Jack both had their faces buried in oversized ice cream sundaes as Sam sat in the middle, smiling indulgently at Jack’s joy-filled expression. His eyes filling up with tears, Sam tore himself from the picture, tucking it into his jeans pocket.

_I’m sorry. I’m so sorry_ , Sam told the Dean in the remains of the photo, before half running from the bunker. He didn’t want to think about the reaction he knew he’d get from the real Dean, if he found out what Sam was about to do.

 

***

 

After Sam had gone, the bunker seemed unnaturally quiet. It was bad enough missing Dean’s strong presence, but now Jack could feel Sam’s absence too and he missed him already.

As promised, Jack continued the search. Articles about angelic-sounding murders, omens, miracles... anything that could possibly be Michael, Jack printed out and marked on a large map of the country. Then he turned to legends and religious books about angels. And then to spells...

People began to come and go from the bunker, but none of them were Sam. Cass, Mary, Bobby, various refugees from the Apocalypse World... they were in and out with nothing to report. As the hours turned into days, their presence began to grate on Jack. If neither Sam nor Dean were in this bunker, then no one else had any right to be.

“The angels contacted me today,” Cass’s voice startled him from an old poem about ‘Michael’s sword’ that seemed almost prophetic.

“So?” Jack asked eventually. He couldn’t fathom why that might be important. The angels had made it clear they wouldn’t help. They had sealed themselves in heaven, not wanting to risk dying in any more battles. They wouldn’t even _try_ to sense Michael’s presence, which didn’t really surprise Jack, from what he’d learned about angels in his short life.

Cass spoke hesitantly, “They’d like to meet. They think maybe, if they can share their grace with you, you could still help them keep heaven going.”

Jack stared blankly at Castiel. Smart as he was, he was unable to understand how this would help Dean. No amount of sharing grace with half a dozen angels would get Jack enough power to fight his uncle. Surely Castiel realised that?

“Would that help us locate Michael?” Jack asked after giving up on trying to fill in the blanks himself.

“No,” Cass answered, so slowly Jack had begun to get annoyed, “but heaven is also at risk, it’s still a problem that needs dealing with. If heaven loses power, the human souls up there will -”

“I don’t care!” Jack practically yelled. “I don’t care if heaven ceases to exist, I don’t care if angels go extinct! And I don’t understand why you _do!_ ”

“Jack, the trail is cold. Losing Dean doesn’t negate our other problems. Your mother would -”

“Get. Out.” Jack had had it now. Cass waltzed into Sam and Dean’s home, offering no solutions, only distractions, and now was using Jack’s mother to appeal to him? Dean needed them. Sam needed them. And Castiel thought they should help _angels_ instead?

Cass made the mistake of coming towards Jack, his hands out in a placating gesture. All of Jack’s grief and fear and hopelessness and frustration bubbled to the surface. Jack had only just started to fully understand his adult emotions – controlling them was another matter. As the angel got too close, Jack let his pain out, his fist slamming into the side of Castiel’s face, causing the angel to stumble and fall against the library table, scattering books and the poem Jack had been reading. The angel clutched his face, looking more shocked than physically hurt. Jack tried to find some regret or remorse for his outburst, but all he could feel was betrayal and anger towards Cass for giving up.

“Get out,” Jack repeated in a hard voice, before walking quickly out of the room. Cass didn’t follow him, and when he returned to the library, Cass had clearly taken Jack’s not-so-subtle hint and left.

 

 

***

 

Six days passed before Sam came home. Jack had long-since given up looking at the door expectantly, just for it to be not-Sam, so Sam’s soft ‘hey’ actually startled him. Forgetting their awful circumstances for a moment, Jack ran to meet Sam the foot of the stairs and threw his arms around him in a hug that Sam seemed happy to return.

Jack’s relief faded as he looked up at Sam. On the surface, he looked better: less tired and pale, but there was a wildness in his eyes that Jack had never seen before. A sort of determination. He looked stronger and that should’ve reassured Jack but for some reason it made him anxious, like Sam was about to do something that would get him hurt.

Jack pushed the thought aside, deciding to be positive instead. “I’m glad you’re back. I really missed you.”

“I know, I missed you too,” Sam squeezed him harder, until Jack’s anxiety began to fade. “I just needed some time to figure out some old issues.”

Before Jack had time to figure out what _tha_ t might mean, Sam released him from the hug and walked into the library.

“I’ve been thinking that maybe, instead of trying to chase Michael, we could lure him to us,” Sam spoke in a matter-of-fact way, as if he’d come up with a plan.

_Must’ve been some productive soul-searching,_ Jack mused. Trying not to get his hopes up, he sat opposite Sam, waiting for him to continue.

“If Michael believed your powers were regenerating, that you were getting stronger, what do you think he’d do?” There was a strange intensity to Sam’s words. Desperation, maybe?

“He’d come looking to kill me before I could kill him. But it’s not true. I don’t have the power to fight him,” _but he’d still come if he believed it. Probably. I wouldn’t mind being live bait, even if I died_. Jack quickly picked up on where Sam was heading.

“One step at a time. I have another idea for saving Dean. But first we have to lure him out and trap him. But I won’t let anything happen to you – you're not disposable, Jack,” Sam finished with a smile, clearly seeing Jack’s thoughts and wanting to reassure him.

“Trap him?”

“I’ve been thinking that Rowena can help with that. She has a spell that once held Lucifer... at least it was supposed to. She betrayed us, and well... here you are.” With that last part, Sam smiled the closest thing resembling an actual smile since the devil died. Jack felt like smiling, too. This was realest plan they’d come up with yet, and it felt good to have a direction. Now for the details…

 

***

 

Cass had seemed a little too eager to contact the angels to ask them to spread a rumour through angel radio that the Nephilim was growing stronger again. Spreading that same lie through hell was even easier. Demons are dumb. And they were more numerous than angels, meaning that the ten that Sam had killed hadn’t even been noticed. Hell was in chaos after all, with no leader.

Sam knew the mess in hell was probably the only reason a demon had answered his summons at the crossroads. Under normal circumstances, few demons would risk it, but in this climate, an ambitious demon might measure their chances against Sam’s desperation and the opportunity for his soul. Such a deal could help a demon rise to prominence very quickly.

Sam _was_ desperate, that much was true, but it wasn’t a deal he was looking for. It hadn’t taken much to trap the enterprising monster looking for a prized soul. Sam felt physically sick as he remembered slicing his knife across the demon’s flesh. She had screamed but she also laughed to see Sam’s tears. He had cried as he drank the blood – so different than last time. He wanted no part of what he was doing, in fact it took all his willpower to ignore the metallic, sulfurous taste and keep it down. _For Dean. For Dean_. Sam chanted those words to himself. Of course, Dean will probably beat the shit out of him for doing this to himself again, but it didn’t matter, because if Dean hit him for this then it’d mean it worked. It’d mean Sam had saved him.

His powers had been tricky at first. Wherever he’d buried them, they didn’t want to be found. Or maybe it was just that Sam had lost the knack. Or maybe he was getting old. Either way, it took him three days of constant experimenting on the demon to get them working again. But once he did, it was as if he’d gotten stronger with the years. His mind has become stronger. He exorcised and then killed ten demons, including the first that he’d drained.

This was a very stupid plan. Lure Michael, trap Michael, protect Jack... so many ways it could go wrong. Sam wished he’d been able to practice on an angel. He thought the process would be the same. After all, the device the British Men of Letters had given them to get Lucifer out of the president would work on angels _and_ demons. Surely Sam’s psychic powers would too? That was the theory. An untested theory because those cowards had sealed themselves in heaven. He thought about trying on Cass but dismissed the thought. Not because Sam was worried about hurting him, but because he was pretty sure he couldn’t be separated from that damned vessel.

Now Sam stood in his bedroom, gathering the books and weapons he thought would be most useful and wondering what the hell to tell Jack. The kid was the bait in this plan -- he had a right to know how it was going to go down. As Sam thought of one story after another, he realised that _this_ is what damaged his relationship with Dean the first time – not the blood, but the lying.

So as Sam found his way to the library, duffle bag in hand, he resolved to tell Jack the truth – maybe he’d gloss over the gory stuff.

He found Jack by the map table, putting candy bars into his backpack. Sam really did love this kid. To his surprise, Jack didn’t ask any questions, aside from ‘do we have everything?’ and ‘are we ready to go?’. That really made Sam feel shitty. Jack had had put so much trust in him – a relapsed blood junkie.

The plan had come together surprisingly easily, with one snag. Rowena, though willing to give Sam the right spell from the Book of the Damned to trap Michael, thought it was a suicide mission and refused to be near it. Which meant Sam had to rely on his own spell work. _Fingers crossed._

 

***

 

They needed to cast the spell away from everyone to limit collateral damage – luckily, Sam knew the perfect place and it was only a few hours away. Jack was quiet on the drive, though he didn’t seem nervous, just determined. _Brave, just like Dean_.

Dean.

Sam missed his brother something fierce. He felt as though his arm had been ripped off. No, that wasn’t accurate. It was more like his soul had been ripped out. Yes, he felt like he had when he was soulless. It never got easier being without Dean. No matter how many times they lost each other, the grief was the same: a hell-like pit of emptiness and despair.

If Sam’s stupidly risky plan worked, maybe he’d see his big brother again soon. Sam daren’t let himself hope. The only hope he did have was that if Michael showed up and Sam’s powers didn’t work, that Dean would protect him and Jack. He had a lot more faith in his brother than he had in himself right now.

The cemetery was exactly how Sam remembered it, but today the sky was dark, shining a hint of green light onto the yellow grass, as the occasional fat drop of rain stained the headstones. A storm. A twisting storm, judging by the wind. Sam fought off the superstitious notion that this was some sort of omen or warning. _It’s just Kansas in May_ , he told himself. But it made Sam’s hairs stand on end and his heart thud a little harder.

He and Jack spray-painted the warding onto headstones in silence, before returning to the center of the cemetery to perform the spell. Sam recognized the area – he thought the Impala might even be parked in the same place Dean had pulled up the first time they were here.

“I hit Cass,” Jack said hesitantly.

Sam was shocked, but also amused by Jack’s admission. Cass had been as much use as titties on a turtle these past months. “I’m sure he’ll live,” Sam gave the kid a smile, “now let’s summon an archangel, shall we?”

“Michael’s ignored four different summoning spells, are you sure he’ll come?”

“I’m not sure about any of this plan, but if he’s heard our message about you, then when he feels our spell, he’ll think it’s true.”

“Only an idiot would summon him, if they didn’t have something up their sleeve,” the kid caught on fast, as always. “ _Do_ we have something up our sleeves?” Now sounding unsure.

Sam didn’t have time to tell him now, the spell was all set up. He’d _see_ soon enough, hopefully. “You know I told you I had powers? Wanna see ‘em?” Sam tried to keep it light.

Jack looked shocked but nodded in understanding and smiled in anticipation.

As the kid got in position the ‘close the door’ so to speak, Sam recited his witchy mumbo jumbo, hoping Rowena had written the spell for him properly.

When nothing happened, Sam felt disappointment clutch at his heart. He’d stupidly let himself hope again, without realizing it. Michael knew he held all the cards, and he had exactly what he wanted – his most powerful vessel. Why would he even bother with Sam? Why risk lending Dean strength?

“ _SAM!_ ” Jack’s frightened shriek broke through the fog of disappointment, and he turned to see someone familiar, yet totally alien, stalking towards Jack as the kid bravely finished the last sigil, sealing Michael in with them.

“I’m getting tired of your incessant spells. I thought you’d take the hint but I guess I’ll have to teach you the hard way.” His voice sounded nothing like Dean. Cold and unfeeling, even his accent was different. He walked different too – there was a gracefulness to his steps that wasn’t at all Dean-like – it was predatory... dangerous. And he was a getting a little too close to the kid.

Jack lighting the ring of holy oil around the cemetery caused Michael to quicken his pace towards him, his expression filled with hatred for his nephew. _I hope the storm doesn’t put out the holy fire before we’re ready_ , Sam found the last practical thought in his head as the flames wrapped around Stull Cemetery.

_Now or never_ , Sam thought, before reaching out his hand and his mind to Michael and exerting his will. The archangel clearly felt something, because he turned towards Sam now, a cold smile on his face and murder in his eyes. Sam was a mosquito... and he’d just buzzed in Michael’s ear.

_I think I pissed him off_ , and worse, it wasn’t working.

Brave, sweet Jack rushed at Michael, grabbing him by the coat and getting a hard backhand for his trouble. The blow sent the kid across the graveyard, landing on a headstone with an awful sounding crack.

The sight of Jack, unconscious and bleeding, woke something in Sam as he realized that Dean would’ve seen and felt that. And it would hurt him.

All self-doubt now gone, Sam looked at Dean’s face, through Michael, and hoped his brother could hear him. “I’m sorry, Dean. Please forgive me.” Michael only smiled in response as Sam flexed his psychic muscles.

Sam reached down into himself, trying to find the place he’d accessed the last time he was here. He drew on his powers using his love for his family, not hate for this enemy. His hand reached out again, his eyes closed and his mind calm.

_We keep each other human..._

_If we die, we’ll do that together too..._

_Don’t you dare think that there is anything, past or present, that I would put in front of you..._

_I’m proud of us..._

_You’re my big brother... there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you..._

_I do know that if anyone can do it... it’s you..._

Memories flooded in as real sounds began to fade: the wind through the grass, the ominous thunder, Michael’s cries of rage, even his own heartbeat, sounded like they were half a state away. He was vaguely aware of the feel of blood dripping from his face, tickling his chin as it dropped, and Jack’s high-pitched screams of ‘SAM!’ A light was growing in intensity on the other side of his eyelids and a terrible white noise was threatening to break Sam’s concentration... but he pushed harder.

_I’m here, Sammy, I’m not gonna leave you... I’m not gonna leave you..._

The light and the presence Sam was pushing against disappeared all at once. _Did it work? I should open my eyes and see_ . But he didn’t have the energy. Other sounds were returning to him now, he could feel the hard ground against his knees and hear Jack’s panicked voice at his shoulder... as blackness took over, he heard another voice, weak and raspy: ‘ _Sammy?’_

 

***

 

Awareness came back slowly; the first sound that registered was the familiar growl of the Impala’s engine. Sam’s eyes opened to a figure in front of him, in the driver’s seat. _Dean?_ But as his eyes focused, he realized the figure was too small. Jack. But if Jack was driving, where was Dean? Did it not work? Sam had a moment of blind panic. What had he missed? As soon as he tried to sit up and ask Jack, a hand ran through his hair, gently pushing his head back down.

Sam turned his head to look up at his brother’s face. Ah, that made sense, Sam was laid on the back seat, his head on Dean’s lap. His brother had removed Michael’s jacket and tie, and was sat in a white shirt, looking tired and haunted.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice sounded like a squeak.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Dean’s reply came through gritted teeth, the tone Sam got when he‘d done something stupid.

_The demon blood._

“I’m sorry Dean, I didn’t know what else to do. The blood –”

“I don’t care about the blood. What were you think exorcising an archangel with your mind? You could’ve died. You still might.” Dean sounded mad, but Sam knew him well enough to hear the worry in his voice.

Sam turned his attention back to the driver. Under normal circumstances, Jack would be the injured party being fussed over. As it was, the kid was the only one remotely fit to drive and, hell, _he_ probably had a concussion. The storm that was threatening earlier raged against the windshield and the lightning flashes sporadically illuminating the car revealed streaks of blood down Jack’s face, sticking to his hair.

“Jack, can you find the nearest hotel, bud?” Sam’s raspy voice sounded like it belonged to something less than human, even to his own ears. “I don’t care if it’s one star or five, just get us some beds.”

Exhausted as he was, Sam still had the presence of mind to decide that if Jack hadn’t found somewhere in 20 minutes, they’d sleep in the car. It’d be cramped. Dean could have the front seat, Sam would sleep sitting up with the kid in his lap.

“Sure.” Jack turned to give Sam a smile

“Eyes on the road while you’re driving my Baby.” Dean barked, sounding more like himself.

Sam smiled at his tone – he'd missed Dean’s gruffness. Guess now wasn’t a good time to mention that Jack had driven the Impala several times recently. He saw Jack roll his eyes in the rear-view mirror but was glad Dean hadn’t. Rolling his eyes was a habit Jack had picked up from Sam and he knew it was gonna drive Dean nuts – the thought made Sam smile tiredly.

“Storm chasers,” Dean muttered to himself after about 15 minutes. Sam struggled to sit up through the pounding in his head to see what Dean meant. Every motel Jack drove past had no vacancies, but did have many trucks and vans full of expensive-looking equipment in their parking lots.

_Survive an archangel... get hit by a tornado. Typical._

 

_***_

 

The hotel Jack finally pulled up outside was more than a little fancier than they were used to but Dean had no complaints, he felt like a bit of luxury right now. Shockingly, the three of them managed to get a room. Despite wiping most of the blood off Jack’s face, he still looked like he’d lost a fight and he & Sam looked so out of it, the clerk probably thought they were high.

Dean had no idea what was keeping him upright. He suspected it was purely his determination to see Sam and Jack safely to bed. He felt delirious and disconnected, like a vivid dream was trying to pull him back in, leaving him dizzy and weak, as if he was looking off the edge of a cliff. Somehow, they made it up to their fancy-ass room and pulled off their dirty, blood-stained clothes. The three of them fumbled their way through amateur medical examinations, and ultimately decided they would all be okay to sleep. Dean was surprised to see Jack crawl into the bed next to Sam, despite there being a perfectly fine couch in the room. The two of them faced Dean in his bed, Jack the closest.

“Is this, like, a thing now?” he gestured vaguely at the two of them.

Before Sam could answer, the kid piped up in a matter-of-fact voice, “I have nightmares but they’re better when Sam’s there... and Sam has nightmares, but they’re better when I’m here.”

Dean’s mind turned to the horrible memories and thoughts sitting just beneath his conscious mind, knowing they’d come out to play soon. “I think I might have some bad dreams too. Room for a little one?” Dean asked in a joking-but-not-really sort of way.

The two of them smiled and moved back without saying a word, and Dean all but dived in with them, like a child afraid of the storm outside.

Jack leaned forward, surprising Dean, and buried his head in Dean’s shirt. Dean looked up at his baby brother and smiled. His eyes began to fill with tears but he blinked them away, not wanting the sight of his Sammy to blur. The two of them laid looking at each other for what felt like hours, neither so much as blinking. Sam’s eyes were so familiar, yet after all this time, Dean still didn’t know what color to label them: Blue? Green? Hazel? Honestly, it depended on the light, and in the dim hotel room, lit only by a single lamp, they looked almost bronze. They stared at Dean with changing emotions, from disbelief, longing and fear until it faded to relief, hope and acceptance, as the realization that they had won hit him. Dean searched for the same relief but everything still seemed... artificial.

Dean looked at his brother, remembering the power from Sam’s mind hitting Michael. He hadn’t known Sam was _that_ powerful. Dean helped as much as he could, pushing against the force that gripped his body. And as blood began to pour from Sam’s face, Dean had pushed with more strength than he knew he had – anything to help Sammy.

Once the asshole had flapped away, he saw the mess in front of him: Sam unconscious and Jack dripping with blood from a wound _he’d_ caused. Dean’s only thought was to get away from the cemetery. In the car, Dean had explained to Jack about the demon blood and tried to reassure the kid that Sam’s powers had given him a nosebleed before. _Not_ that _much though_ , Dean kept that thought to himself. There was no need to scare the boy.

Sam and Dean’s little staring contest was eventually broken by a soft snore from Jack, making the brothers chuckle. _Yeah, he has the right idea_ , Dean thought. He and Sam wordlessly leaned toward each other, over the head of the sleeping kid, and rested their foreheads against each other. Dean focused on the feeling – it felt _real_ . And stuff that was real felt _different_ from the tricks a monster played on your mind.

 

 

***

 

To Dean’s surprise, he woke last. Jack sat in his baggy pyjamas, eating a poptart, and Sam had gone in the shower. Dean stumbled over to the bathroom and banged on the door.

On hearing the water shut off, Dean barked through the door “Sam. Shave.” There was no answer but the water began again.

Jack was laughing openly at Dean’s orders and nodding in agreement.

Dean looked at this kid he’d been coerced into adopting. He’d been through hell and fought with everything he had to protect what he loved, and here he sat, laughing despite the deep cut on his head and looking innocent and soft. _He’s made of some tough stuff, just like Sam_.

“Thanks for looking after Sammy while I was gone, kid.” Dean crossed the room to sit next to him on the couch. “You did real good.”

Jack smiled again and bumped his shoulder against Dean’s. Dean responded by wrapping his arm around the kid.

“I love you.”

Dean’s eyes almost popped out at Jack’s casual confession. The hell was he supposed to say to that? He just hugged him tighter.

Dean showered after Sam finished shaving and the hot water washed away some of the vagueness that had been clinging to him. So when he returned to the bedroom, he felt far more grounded.

Refusing to look like some kind of hipster in the clothes Michael had dressed him in, he rummaged among Sam’s stuff, eventually choosing to wear Sam’s very favorite red flannel. Everything about this shirt was Sam and even though it was his best flannel, he knew his brother wouldn’t deny him this... he wanted to feel like he was wearing one of Sam’s hugs.

Jack was watching Scooby Doo when Dean came in, as Sam blow-dried his hair. Neither of them gave a second glance to Dean’s borrowed clothes, but Dean’s attention was immediately drawn by Sam’s face. He looked _worse_ than he had last night, if that was even possible. Sam noticed the look and gestured with his head for Dean to follow him back to the bathroom.

“It’s...” Sam appeared to be struggling for what to say. He looked... embarrassed? “It’s... y’know... the withdrawal. It’s started already.”

Ah yes, the demon blood. Dean searched for even a hint of the disgust and anger he’d felt last time but felt only compassion for his brother. _He poisoned himself for me_. Dean remembered vividly the last time Sam went cold turkey on demon blood. Dean thought he would die. Bobby thought he would die. Sam had hallucinated and screamed in pain, writhing on the floor and hurting himself. Dean’s mind spun as he searched for ideas.

“Maybe you could stop slowly, a little at a time –”

“I’m not drinking any more of that stuff. Not one more drop.” Sam’s tone denied any chance for discussion. “I’ll get through it, I promise. Just get me home.”

 

***

 

Sam’s whole body felt like it was burning; it was like being back in hell, only this felt more real. And yet he kept himself still and his face neutral as they shot down the road, Zeppelin blaring louder than usual. Sam knew his brother was trying make conversation difficult to avoid questions from Jack, which he appreciated, but the music was like a hammer between his eyes.

The buzz of a message coming to Sam’s phone made him jump. Pulling his phone from his jeans and reading the text, his blood ran cold, cooling his fever in the worst way possible.

“Dean. Stop.” At Sam’s command, his brother slammed on the brakes, almost causing Jack to pitch into the front.

Sam wordlessly held out his phone so Dean and Jack could read Mary’s message: ‘Don’t come back to the bunker. Run.’

_Michael._ They all knew it, no one needed to say it. They’d pissed him off and he knew where they lived. They couldn’t go home, they’d have to go on the run, back to motels and diner food. The thought didn’t bother Sam as much as it should’ve... he just hoped everyone had got out safe.

“We need to find somewhere to lay low,” Dean’s voice was grim, “and then find out if anyone was hurt.”

_Guess he found a new vessel. At least it’s not Dean, so we can find a way to kill or trap him now._ And Sam wanted that badly... he could see the fear on Dean’s face. Fear for himself. The same terror that Lucifer had inspired in Sam, and even in the delirium of demon blood withdrawal, Dean’s fear made Sam seethe with rage. _I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch, I promise you_.

 

***

 

They drove a long way from the main roads before Dean felt safe enough to stop for the day, at a motel that was a far cry from the luxury of last night. Sam was looking worse by the second, all but crying with pain as he climbed out of the car. Dean didn’t feel so great himself. His body stung all over, his nerve endings taxed by Michael’s light, and half-formed memories had plagued him all day. Things Michael had done in his body, things he’d tried to hide. The archangel had a plan for this world, a terrible plan, but when Dean tried to focus, to access some information that could help them now, his head began to spin. Knowing he was not in a fit state, Dean allowed Jack to drive the last couple of hours, before deciding they were far enough from Lawrence and Lebanon to stop.

“It’s the blood,” Dean mumbled to Jack, as Sam steadied himself on a vending machine on the way in. The kid only nodded with a grim frown. He wasn’t stupid, he’d worked it out for himself. Jack stared after Sam with big, worried eyes as he collapsed onto the bed, his body shaking violently.

“Is there anything we can do to help him? What did you do last time?” Jack’s little voice was determined and strong, though his eyes were frightened and pleading.

The first time they’d tried to detox Sam, he’d almost died. And then the time after that he fell into the pit. Nothing from before would help them now. Sam had believed that completing God’s trials to shut down hell had ‘purified’ him of the blood. Dean had been sceptical and Sam had been bonkers with a fever, but the idea of purification gave Dean a starting point at least.

“Go get the books out of the car, let’s see what we can find.” At the very least it would give them something to do.

 

***

 

Ice shot through Sam’s veins as he rolled up out of bed, falling into a dresser. A dim light shone through faded blue curtains, filling the room with a flat, grey glow, like the sky had looked the other day, before the storm. He could see the outline of Dean and Jack asleep at the table, their heads on books. Fighting a relentless dizziness, Sam stumbled towards his little family, running his hand through Jack’s soft hair to wake him.

Jack’s head felt sticky and cold to the touch... hard and unmoving. In a panic, Sam flicked on the light above him. He recoiled in horror to see Dean’s body slumped on the table, his eyes burnt out – empty, seared holes where once his brother’s perfect green eyes had been. An angel kill. Jack’s head had been caved in, his face completely unrecognizable, dried blood congealing on the table, wall and floor around him. _Michael. He found us_. Sam felt his stomach convulse and his body shake violently.

Sunlight poured through the window into Sam’s eyes, blinding him as he felt his way to the bathroom to throw up the contents of his stomach – which fortunately was absolutely nothing. When he was done, he tried to go back to the bedroom – he _needed_ to see Dean and Jack, he needed to know for sure that it was just a vivid fever dream. His legs didn’t even get him to the bathroom door. He collapsed on the floor, narrowly missing the bathtub. This was a pretty rough motel, even by Sam’s standards, and the last place he wanted his cheek to be was on the grimy tiles but a terrible ringing filled his head as his vision turned black and spotty. Sam tried to pull himself together and get onto his knees, but his body would not respond, and blackness pulled him closer.

Long, thin fingers reached out to wrap around Sam’s hand in front of his face, and from behind, Someone was pulling him up and wrapping his other arm over him to take Sam’s weight. _Thank God they’re okay_. Sam tried to look up and see their faces – alive and not mutilated – but his vision faded and darkness pulled him into a burning coldness.

 

***

 

When Sam woke again, Dean and Jack were sat next to each other at the motel room table, both leaning over the same book and murmuring quietly.

“I feel like death,” Sam croaked out, causing the two to look up.

“We might have come up with something to try.” Dean sounded hopeful, if tired.

“Did you sleep last night?” _He was just possessed, he should really be taking it easy_ , Sam frowned at his brother with worry.

“Later. It’s not like we have anywhere to go yet,” Dean got up and sat on Sam’s bed. Jack followed, sitting on the other side. After a moment Dean continued, sounding hesitant. “Do you remember when you were doing the trials, and you had to cure a demon?”

“Of course I do, there’s nothing wrong with my memory. And I’m not actually a demon, y’know.” Sam was aware that he sounded like a brat but he hurt all over and talking with Dean about the demon blood stuff made Sam automatically defensive.

“Bitch.” Dean flicked his brother’s head playfully, clearly not bothered by Sam’s tone. “But you injected Crowley with a load of your blood and it changed him. Remember?”

Sam fought the urge to be a smartass and ask Dean if there was something wrong with _his_ memory, and instead thought about his words: injecting a demon with human blood could restore their humanity. Crowley was never the same afterward, even though Sam hadn’t finished it. Hell, Sam had cured Dean of being a demon using the same method so he knew it worked. _But I’m not a demon._

As if reading his thoughts, Dean chimed in “I _know_ you’re not a demon, but maybe it could still work. What if purified human blood could, like, counteract the withdrawal?”

Sam loved Dean even more when he showed how smart he really was. His brother was a genius. Sam thought about it and couldn’t see an obvious reason it would be a bad idea; the worst that could happen would be nothing at all.

 

***

 

Confession. The blood was supposed to be purified by confession. Dean thought about where he should do it before concluding that Chuck almost certainly wasn’t listening and the angels didn’t give a damn so the location didn’t really matter. The bathroom of the dingy motel didn’t seem the best place but he wasn’t about to go any further from Sam.

Speaking in a quiet voice, so Sam and Jack couldn’t hear, Dean gathered his thoughts. “Where to begin? I’ve made so many mistakes, I don’t even know which ones to start with. I guess I’ll start with the kid. I was awful to him.” Dean shook his head at himself as he remembered. “He was young and scared and he looked to us, and all I had for him was meanness. Hell, I wouldn’t have blamed the kid if he _had_ gone dark side after all the crap I said to him. So... that’s a sin.”

Dean hesitated, sliding down the bathroom wall to sit on the floor, knowing that was the easiest one. “Sam... I guess it makes sense that he’s had the worst of me, over the years. I blamed him for stuff that wasn’t his fault, hell, blamed him for stuff that was _my_ fault.” Dean’s eyes filled with tears as he thought of all the ways he’d failed his brother. “I left him to die in a cave, to be resurrected by Satan, I blamed him for ending the world... but I couldn’t protect him... there was so much I couldn’t protect him from. I turned on him when he was lost and in pain, I made him think there were people I loved more...”

Dean poured all his pain into the silence of the bathroom, until his tears stained his jeans and his sobs sounded like coughs. He was sure Sam or Jack must’ve heard him, but when he eventually got his crap together and crept back into the room, the two were asleep, curled up around each other. Realizing the light had faded, Dean looked at the alarm clock on the nightstand – damn, he’d been in there nearly two hours, no wonder his throat felt like it had a rock in it.

Dean had to admit he felt better though. Letting out his guilt made him look at Sam – and Jack – with fresh eyes. They were still here. And in spite of everything, they were together, and they would fight together... if he could save Sam. _Please, let me be able to save him, just this once._

 

***

 

Blackness didn’t want to let Sam go... and the feeling was mutual. Consciousness was unpleasant; a searing coldness that covered his body. But consciousness was shaking him... no wait, that was Dean, his panicked voice screaming ‘Sammy!’ in his ear. Okay, _that_ he was willing to wake up for. Sam fought off the darkness and followed his brothers voice.

“Dean. My head hurts. Take it down an octave... or three.”

He felt his brother slump, all but landing on top of him. “You wouldn’t wake up. You scared the crap out of me.”

Opening his eyes, he could see his brother panting, half-laid next to him on the bed. Jack was on the other side, his eyes like a deer in headlights.

“I’m okay, promise,” he tried to reassure them both. “Help me up.”

 

***

 

After waking up bit, Sam and Dean sat on their beds, syringes on the nightstand between them. Sam’s hands were too shaky to draw Dean’s blood, so the two of them talked Jack through the process. His brow furrowed in concentration and he looked a little nervous but his hands were steady and, as they’d come to expect from Jack, he got it right the first time.

When it came time to inject Dean’s blood, Sam sensed his family was as nervous as he was – if this didn’t work, Sam knew he might not survive while they came up with something else. Dean’s big hands were surprisingly nimble as he emptied the syringe into Sam’s arm. The three of them sat holding their breath, as if there’d be a sudden, noticeable difference.

Disappointingly, Sam didn’t feel immediately better. in fact, he felt tired again. Dean obviously noticed this because he started talking like a cartoon character and bouncing around the room like a crazy person, afraid to let Sam sleep. Dean’s comedy act worked on Jack, who began giggling like a child next to him, but all Sam had in him was a smile and a yawn.

 

***

 

Jack sat cross-legged at the end of Sam’s bed, watching him without blinking. Dean wanted to make a joke about being a creepy stalker but thought better of it – the worry was plain on his face and he’d probably had less sleep than anyone in the past couple of days. When Sam finally woke, he groaned and stretched, almost kicking Jack off the bed with those long-ass legs of his. Dean was at his bedside in an instant, his face hovering over Sam’s.

“You wan’ a kiss or something?” Sam smiled up at his brother. He didn’t have to say anything for Dean to know it had worked. Sam’s eyes were clear, his fever gone, and his stomach growled. Dean sent up a small prayer to no one in particular as Sam sat up, kicking off the blankets.

_Would this have to be a repeat thing?_ Dean wondered, _Will we have to do this every week? Every day?_ He decided that it didn’t matter. He’d give Sam every last drop of blood he had, if he had to.

Dean was so focused on his brother he didn’t notice Jack until Sam looked to the kid and his face turned soft.

“You okay, bud?” Sam had his Jack-voice on. The kid’s eyes were full of tears and his lip was actually trembling. When Sam held out his arms, Jack threw himself into them like the child he actually was, and sobbed out his exhaustion, worry and fears into Sam’s shoulder. _He hid it well but he must’ve been terrified. Sam’s the one he loves most and even_ I _thought we were gonna lose him. I wouldn’t have let that happen._

Dean had spent hours last night thinking of a backup plan. He’d decided that if it came down to it, he would buy them more time by getting Sam what he needed – demon blood. He’d have forced it on his brother if he’d had to, to save his life. _Ironic_.

 

***

 

Luckily no one had been killed when Michael attacked the bunker – Bobby had thought fast with a banishing sigil and the few people inside had scattered before he could come back. Now the refugees were spread across the country, most of the weapons and lore books left behind aside from the few Jack and Sam had taken. After speaking to Mary, Sam and Dean decided it was too dangerous to try to meet up with the others just yet. They’d keep to the back roads, until Michael’s plan became clearer. Jack was glad no one was hurt, but he was happier that they’d be on the road soon - he felt safer knowing they’d be hard to find.

Stood in the bathroom, washing the tear-stains from his face, Jack decided he couldn’t think of any better sound than Sam and Dean bickering like kids. It reassured him that they were _there_ and alive and – despite the circumstances – happy. As he walked out into the bedroom, Sam and Dean’s backs were to him, leaning over the table, doing something Jack couldn’t see. Their conversation became clearer:

“We’ve talked about this, bitch, that’s no substitute for pie.”

“It’s not _for you_ , jerk, and I got you your damn pie.”

“What is _that_ fo – oh. Today?”

“Yeah.”

They turned towards him as one, child-like smiles on their big, stupid faces.

“Happy birthday!” they yelled together. In Sam’s hand was a massive chocolate cupcake with a large 1 – shaped candle burning on top of it.

And for a few brief moments as Jack crossed the room to blow out his birthday candle and make a wish, as he’d seen on TV, he forgot all about the end of the world. His uncle, the apocalypse... they’d deal with it together, just like Dean had told him once.

Jack’s birthday wish was a simple one _: I wish that nothing takes my family from me again._


End file.
